


Immergence

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: First Time, M/M, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-06-22
Updated: 1997-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit to confer with Mulder before a hearing on the death of John Lee Roche leads to more than Skinner planned. Originally published in the zine Homosapien 5, 1997,</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immergence

Walter Skinner turned off the light in his office and closed the door. Another horribly late night, and on a weekend, yet. No wonder Sharon had divorced him.

He looked at the clock above his secretary's desk and shrugged into his coat, closing the outer office behind him. He couldn't get his mind off Fox Mulder.

Never mind that Skinner had spent practically the whole day inventing a creative tale to cover up the whole Roche disaster, and particularly Mulder's final executionary shot. Of course his mind would be on Mulder. So it was more than that -- tomorrow would be the internal investigation into the shooting and the whole prisoner release debacle, and Skinner was worried about the future of Mulder's career. And worried, he'd realized as he closed out the last of the report, about Mulder's own personal sanity.

By the time he reached his car in the garage he'd begun to calm a bit, no longer as infuriated with his subordinate as he'd been the last few days. It helped that Mulder was temporarily suspended. Skinner drove out onto the rain-slicked streets. Consider it _,_ he told himself. Mulder had pissed him off plenty of times, nearly cost him his job on occasion. Possibly even almost killed him. But this was different. There was a desperation to Mulder's recent actions, a personal ache so deep that Skinner almost couldn't hold on to the anger. He wanted to -- but it wasn't in his heart.

So much pain and defeat behind Mulder's eyes as they'd led him away from the shooting. All hope that his answers were gone. He'd had that cherished belief in his sister's abduction by aliens shaken to the core and replaced by doubt. How do you live with that?Skinner wondered.

Without realizing it, he'd turned his car in the direction of Mulder's apartment. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to check in on him -- he was certainly the only other person Walter knew who kept the same absurd late-night hours. Sleep had never been a friend for either of them; that much they had in common.

*Admit it, you're concerned.*Skinner had seen Mulder a lot of ways, even defeated, but nothing like that. Crushed. Could he get through the hearing? There were times Skinner had wished the X-Files would be permanently closed; the thorns in his butt moved off to other departments. He'd thought taking the two out of reporting to a line supervisor and instead going directly to the AD would make them less reckless. No dice.

He'd rarely respected anyone as much as he did those two, though. In spite of everything, in spite of their complete disregard for the rules. Scully's hard-nosed belief that science could explain everything, her dedication to her job and partner, were qualities he lauded. And Mulder. Rarely had Skinner known anyone so complex and fascinating, yet so completely transparent. You knew what he was on about the minute you met him. Yet he was never understandable.

And attractive; that, too. There was a quality about Mulder that men and women both found appealing; he projected not just a flirtatiousness but a confident sexuality. He knew he was attractive. In anyone else that knowledge could be cruelly arrogant. In Mulder it was just charming, almost facetious.

Walter had never met anyone so... so *ambisexual.*Mulder turned on that charm to anyone, had on more than a few occasions turned it on Skinner himself. That was probably why, Skinner thought as he turned off the engine, parked across from Mulder's building, going in there right now was probably not a good idea.

***

Mulder was lying sideways on the couch, holding his basketball with one arm and his remote in his other hand. He flipped between channels every few seconds. It was a tough decision -- ESPN's umpteenth showing of a Final Four basketball game or Bravo's late-night broadcast of Ran _._ Hoops or Kurosawa? Well, he couldn't focus on anything lately, anyway, so he watched them both with the sound off.

He'd rarely felt this tired and this alone before, and the sound of the doorbell hit him like a gunshot, cutting through the silence that surrounded him. Scully would have called first. The Lone Gunmen? The most likely. Nevertheless, he grabbed his gun from the jacket hanging on the chair, and opened the door.

Skinner?

He pulled the door all the way open, for once in his life quite speechless. They stood for some time just looking at each other, until Skinner finally broke the ice. "How are you holding up? Are you prepared for the hearing tomorrow?"

Mulder stepped back from the door, placing his gun on the table, then sat down on the edge of the couch and watched his boss. Skinner had followed him inside, and was now just standing there, looking around as if not quite certain what to do. Mulder had never seen Skinner dressed like this, he realized. He was wearing a casual brown field coat, faded jeans, and a very old and worn denim shirt. Not at all how he'd pictured the AD if they ever instituted casual Fridays. Oh _,_ he realized suddenly, it's Sunday. Sunday night, and tomorrow is Monday, and the hearing's at eleven a.m _._

"It's fairly straightforward," Mulder said. "There's no way to make what I did look good. Especially when you consider they already think I'm the poster boy for delusional paranoiacs."

"I think there are some... ways around the shooting. I'll back you up that you had no choice. As for the rest of it--"

"I know. Reckless disregard."

Walter grabbed the nearest chair and sat, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I've been at the office most of the day. Trying to put a creative spin on your prisoner release request. I'm not destined for a career in public relations." He put his glasses back on and narrowed his eyes at the agent.

Mulder nodded. "I understand."

Skinner looked hard at Mulder then, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the weary slump of his shoulders. Seed shells littered the floor near one end of the couch; Skinner had never thought of Mulder as a slob. He sighed, knowing he was going to regret this. "Have you actually eaten anything other than sunflower seeds in... days?"

Mulder smiled. "Not much." The pale blue of the denim shirt against Skinner's olive skin was a nice effect, he thought. Even sitting there, annoyed because of his concern for a subordinate who drove him nuts, Skinner radiated a power and presence Mulder found tremendously appealing. Scully had named it once, after a tongue lashing she'd received but during most of which she found herself thinking, He's awfully handsome in an unusual way _._ Pheromones, she'd said, the man radiates pheromones.

Skinner scratched the back of his neck in a distracted, thoughtful way, a gesture he kept trying to stop but that he knew he relied on too much. He squinted against the thoughts he was having, and then said resignedly, "Do you actually have any food in the place?" He got up and moved into the kitchen.

Eggs, a few nearly lifeless vegetables. Some juice. An inordinate amount of condiments. He sighed and pulled out the eggs, what little milk there was, the vegetables and a jar of salsa that had probably seen better days. "You'd better like omelets, or else," he growled, turning to find an amused Mulder watching him.

My boss, my nemesis, is making me dinner _,_ Mulder thought idly, almost laughing out loud. Laughing, however, would not be a wise decision, and he'd made way too many unwise decisions lately where Skinner was concerned. But he couldn't help wondering just what was going on here. It didn't help that as Skinner had shed the thigh-length coat, Mulder now had a glimpse of one of the finest behinds he'd had the pleasure to see encased in denim, male or female. Studying his form, Mulder noted how the wide shoulders, firmly muscled, led to the broad back, tapering down to the narrow waist and... that ass. Skinner's forearms were like steel, but his fingers were long and fine, an artist's. A lot of things he'd never thought to note before, a lot of attractive things.

"You don't have to feed me, sir." Mulder left his perch and came into the kitchen.

"No, I don't." There was nothing else, no other shoe to drop. Skinner always said what he wanted to and no more. He rummaged in a drawer and came up with a knife of dubious sharpness and began cutting the green pepper, what little there was of it.

Suddenly Mulder said, "Oh!" and reached inside the fridge, coming up with a small wedge of cheddar. He smiled at Skinner, found a grater and attacked the cheese with it. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Mulder couldn't stand it any more. "I was sorry to hear you and Sharon finalized the divorce," he said, knowing he was reaching a bit. "I'd hoped it would work out for you. She's a good person."

Skinner threw some butter in a frying pan and sighed. "Well." He searched but couldn't find anything else to say. "Another casualty of justice," he finally commented acidly. "It was inevitable.' After spending entire Sundays at the office, of course a divorce would have been inevitable.

Mulder moved behind him to reach for a plate and brushed against his back, his buttocks. Skinner could distinctly feel Mulder's cock, the muscles of his chest. *Leave. Now.*His brain said it adamantly, but there was a frisson of guilty pleasure rippling through him.

"It's -- this -- is not always conducive to normal relationships. I don't know that Scully or I have had a date in... years." Mulder looked pointedly at Skinner. "I've almost forgotten what it's like."

There were a thousand different ways Skinner could take that line. He looked sideways with his head bent, eyes narrowed, at Mulder. Is Mulder coming on to me?he wondered, with a tiny bit of interest.

Fortunately his task absorbed him -- omelets were one of the few things he could cook and he made them well -- and he watched the eggs bubble in the pan until they hit just the right consistency. *Mulder can just puzzle out my reaction for a while, keep him worried he's offending me.*

Skinner pointed to the table, which was covered in papers. Mulder nodded and sat. Skinner threw the thing onto a plate, poured a glass of juice, and put both in front of his agent. "Eat."

"Thanks, Dad," Mulder said, holding his knife in one fist, fork in the other, both utensils pointing upward.

Skinner scowled. He sat opposite Mulder, who ate slowly, as though it were a task.

Finally Mulder looked up and said, "It's sort of hard to eat. I keep thinking of Roche's brains decorating the bus window. Charming pattern."

"You've seen plenty worse," Walter said gently.

This was what amazed Mulder about his boss, he realized. How at unexpected times, the bellowing bull could be transformed, gentle. He found himself more drawn to Skinner suddenly. The power coupled with the subdued concern was like an aphrodisiac.

"I know," Mulder said. "But what if.. what if the answer was in there? I'll never know."

"You may know, some day." Skinner looked sharply at him. The last thing he wanted to see was a Mulder without some hope of an answer. It was what kept him going, what kept him interesting. "You know, I've told you before. I admire your tenacity, your curiosity."

"You're saying my tenacity will reward me?" Mulder eyed him skeptically.

"I hope it will. You deserve it." Skinner was appalled at himself. It practically sounds like a love letter.What was happening here? And the even bigger question was: why was he encouraging it along? Well. Just took at him.The clothes Mulder wore suited him only too well \-- black turtleneck, black jeans. When he wore it with the black leather jacket and boots, all eyes were on Mulder. It was that sexual quality again.

Skinner continued, "It's hard for me to completely understand why you did what you did. What if Roche had hurt that girl? Can you even begin to imagine what would have happened then?" He was not angry; he asked a genuine question.

"I hadn't thought that far. I thought I had it under control."

"Small comfort."

"He was going to pull the trigger."

"I know that. That's not the issue. The issue was how he got there."

"But you stuck by me."

"I had no *choice*."

"Maybe," Mulder said around his food. "But you didn't give up on me completely. I'm grateful."

"The Bureau has had enough trouble lately. This wouldn't have been another black eye like Jewell or TWA. This could have ruined everything. As it is, it's ruined you, I think."

"Not completely." He winced as if in pain. "You're here. That helps."

"Don't fuck with me, Mulder."

Mulder raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Skinner thought about that while Mulder ate. He'd told Mulder once that he'd been no choirboy in Viet Nam, after his near-death experience. Part of that had involved sexual experimentation; Saigon was full of whores of both sexes and a permanently stoned soldier did things he might not have done back in the World. There was more wildness later, but then the FBI *had*made him a choirboy, and his marriage had cemented that. The straight and narrow had put him in his current position at the Bureau. But now he was sitting across a table from certainly one of the most attractive men he'd ever met. An attractive *subordinate.*

"You scared the shit out of me when you disappeared in Russia," Skinner said, as if he were talking about the weather.

"Missed me, huh?"

"More than I'd imagined. You have too many close calls."

Mulder studied him for a moment, apparently unsure exactly what his boss was getting at.

"There are people who do in fact care about you. For you." Put the cards on the table and see if Mulder picks them up.

He did. "You've protected me from things. I've always wondered why you do that. What's in itfor you? I ask myself. Is it simply my mesmerizing personality? No, it's because whatever else I am -- major pain in the ass, recalcitrant employee, or just plain stupid -- you still think enough of me to put yourself on the line. Don't think," Mulder emphasized, pointing a fork at Skinner, "I haven't noticed."

"But I can't protect you from this. *This*is all your own demons, all the things you've carried around inside you your whole life like... talismans."

Mulder thought for a moment. "When we visited Addy Sparks' father, he said he used to think the not knowing was worse. But he was wrong. At that moment I felt for the first time that maybe the answer to Samantha's disappearance would be an answer I couldn't handle. That the knowing could be worse, in fact, because the knowing would mean the answer was bad. At least not knowing I could believe... other things. What if the answer is unacceptable, just like Mr. Sparks' answer? Scully knew, too. She looked at me with a complete understanding of what his comment meant to me."

After a pause he looked up from the table, towards Skinner, his eyes glistening. "Whatever bad choices I made, all the answers were there and no choice would have -- could have -- got them for me. They weren't mine to get, and I knew that then on the bus. The only important thing was to get that girl out alive. The answer may be dead and gone. Maybe... maybe not knowing is better."

Skinner closed his eyes and sighed, his mouth drawn into a tight line. "You're not the judge and jury. We can still keep trying to find an answer." His chest felt constricted, his grief for Mulder threatening to choke him.

A gentle, sad smile crossed Mulder's face. "We."

Mulder finished his food and took the plate into the kitchen. Skinner didn't watch him; sat deliberately staring ahead. *Okay, Wally, now what?*"So, are we all on the same page with this? For tomorrow."

Mulder thought for a moment, and Skinner couldn't help but look at the lower lip, jutting out just so far. Very provocative.

"I suppose," Mulder answered wistfully. "You'll leave me the report?"

Skinner reached into the coat pocket and pulled out some paper, folded precisely into a square. Figures _,_ Mulder thought. The man wears the crispest, whitest shirts I've ever seen on a human; I'm not surprised he'd fold paper like origami.

The AD tossed it onto the table, then rose to put on his jacket. "Read it before the hearing. And Mulder... *try*to get *some*sleep. Okay?"

Mulder stood still at his side, just looking at the paper. "It's nice to have the company. Can't you just tell me what you wrote?"

Skinner hesitated, coat in mid-air. Yet another thing he could take a thousand different ways. "Do you have something to drink?" Skinner asked, putting the coat down.

He moved in a bit closer, the heat from his body filling the space between them. "Beer?"

Breathing deeply, Skinner answered, "That'll do." Mulder hesitated a moment, then brushed against Skinner as he had in the kitchen, friction on his arm and thigh. God, Skinner thought. This really is out of hand and I don't want it to stop. Express elevator to hell _._ Well, he hadn't made AD by playing it safe; risk was his familiar.

Mulder brought the beer to him and held it out. When Skinner's fingers clamped over it, Mulder held on. He met Walter's gaze head-on, implacably, his hungry eyes without guile.

Skinner's fingers inched around his and their hands connected, and Mulder felt a surge of desire sweep through like electric current. It had been so long since he'd wanted someone like this that it felt new, unknown. What was that phrase? Dark territory. Dark and hostile, and he wanted it that way. Mulder stood his ground, did not move his hand away.

Finally Skinner pulled hard enough to take the bottle away, leaving Mulder with his hand still in mid-air. But Skinner did not move away.

There'd been a darkness inside Mulder for so long now, and he felt as if Skinner, standing here before him, was trying to plumb that darkness. He wanted, with a sudden ferocity, to be naked emotionally and physically, to be alive inside and out, to feel this man reach inside him and pull out emotions and sensations he'd buried for too long. He put his hand on Skinner's chest, feeling the heartbeat that jumped and fluttered there. Walter remained motionless, looking down at Mulder's hand.

Mulder moved forward then, closing the gap between them, his body pressed against Skinner's.

The warmth was excruciating to Skinner. He knew in a flash of heat lightning that as deep as Mulder wanted to go, he would follow. "Is that really where you want to take this?" Walter asked quietly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Mulder had long been aware of how attractive people could find him; God knew enough women and more than a few men flirted with him, and he'd hadmore than his share of offers. But this felt different somehow; that someone he both admired and feared felt this way about him. That he could inspire that look in someone like Skinner held Mulder in thrall. He'd known that there was more to Skinner than that control, that intense focus he saw most days. He wanted to watch Skinner lose that control, abandon everything just for him. Just for now.

"I'm right where I want to be," Mulder answered, the hazel eyes gleaming, his lower lip so appealingly wet. Skinner put his hand to Mulder's face, his thumb lightly rubbing the wetness from that lip. Mulder grabbed the thumb between his teeth, his gaze focused firmly on Skinner's eyes.

The beer bottle bounced to the floor as Mulder took Skinner's thumb into his mouth, sucking it, and snaked his own hands around Skinner's waist. Skinner took his free hand and moved it fiercely into Mulder's hair, tugging him closer until he had Mulder where he wanted him. He plunged his lips over Mulder's, barely giving Mulder time to let go of Skinner's thumb. A heavy thrum of electricity shot through his body, and he deliriously kissed Mulder, moving around his mouth, his neck, his face with such abandon he felt he was out of his own body. He heard Mulder moan against his neck and suddenly went cold.

*What on earth was he doing?*

Skinner yanked backwards, his mouth on fire. He swiped at his lips with the back of his hand, taking deep, measured breaths.

Mulder stared at him with shock. Skinner tapped the side of his index finger just under his nose, as if he were considering something. Mulder had seen him do it a thousand times; it was a quick and unconscious gesture and seemed almost offensive in its ordinariness, so completely out of place here.

"Look," Skinner said, staring at the wall beyond Mulder's head. "I'm... I'm not-- this isn't a good idea. I'm not exactly flavor of the month, you know."

"I thought it was a good idea. And I think you're more than flavor of the month, if you don't mind my saying so."

Shaking his head, Skinner looked at him with something approaching pain. "You don't really want this, and it's the last thing I need." Then, as if an afterthought, "What could you possibly get out of this?"

Mulder thought of the possible answers. Power. I want your power, to feel it inside and through me, to swallow it whole. I want your darkness and your light. I want the trust you've given me on occasion; I want more than you've given before. He rejected each answer.

"I could get a lot of things. Someone might tell me I look at you like a father figure, in which case this would be some form of sublimation. Or maybe I want to submit to you here, because I never have anywhere else, and that's what I really want. I don't know. There are a hundred different psychological answers, and I know them all. But I don't care about that. I want this, right now. Here. It's the right time and the right place. We're in the right place."

"And this is acceptable to you?"

"I went to school in England, remember?"

Skinner reared his head back, looking down the full inch he had on Mulder. Not much of an advantage _._ He shook his head lightly. "The last time I remember so much happening in your apartment was you and Scully pointing guns at me."

Mulder moved in closer, pressing his advantage. "What, and that didn't excite you?"

"It's not my idea of foreplay."

"It's mine," Mulder teased. "Where is your gun, anyway?" he asked, pulling at Skinner's shirt.

"Knowing you, I figured it was best left somewhere else," Skinner grumbled, letting Mulder pull at the buttons of the shirt.

"I have two. We could try it again."

"I should have had your ass in a sling for that."

Reaching forward, Mulder moved his hand across Skinner's cheek, then gently slid his glasses off, setting them lightly on the table.

Skinner was shocked by the tenderness in the gesture, and felt something catch there in his throat: a word, a gasp of shock, a moan, he didn't know which. He was surprised by the reminder that in Mulder's world there was room for such an evocative gesture, and it caught his breath. It wasn't that Skinner was incapable of tenderness, simply that his grim, solemn world had muted any opportunities to exhibit such gestures. They were symptoms of a state he had become unfamiliar with.

Mulder pressed home, moving his groin against Skinner's hip, making sure the other man knew what was on offer. Walter sighed heavily, a clear signal that he was giving in. Mulder got the last button undone and peeled the shirt away. "Jesus," he whispered, pressing his face into Skinner's neck. He couldn't believe how beautifully, solidly built the man was. Mulder loved both the male and female forms, but there were times when the male body could take his breath away. And this was one.

"You know, the night I brought that rat-fuck Krycek to your place and you showed up at the door like this..."

"Is that your idea of fun, too? Watching one guy beat up another? Without clothes on?"

"Weelll," Mulder said playfully. "No. It was just that, for a moment, I couldn't remember what I was planning to do. Right after you dragged him onto the balcony. I watched you go and I thought, Be still my beating heart."

"You're a piece of work, Mulder," Skinner grumbled, but there was the faintest touch of glee to it.

Taking his own turn, Skinner nearly ripped Mulder's sweater over his head. Mulder laughed loud and hard, enjoying the cool rush of air on his skin. Then Walter moved him gently toward the bedroom, his hand feathering over Mulder's chest as they moved in small steps.

They met the wall instead, Mulder's back pressed against it as Walter ground his pelvis against him. Mulder's hands moved down Skinner's back, palms flat, fingers spread wide, until they found Skinner's ass, and he grabbed it firmly. The other man moaned against him, mouth open against Mulder's parted lips as he dug his fingers hard into the firm flesh of Skinner's divine backside. Something approaching delight flooded his heart as he listened to and felt Skinner moan against him with every movement of his hands, the heat of his power intoxicating him. He was approaching that perfect moment of being he'd wanted for so long: to lose his religion of emptiness and pain; to be a pilgrim searching for the fire of someone else's heart, a fire he could hold and then take into his own.

For his part, Skinner returned the favor to Mulder, moving one hand down to Mulder's rounded, lean ass, kneading his fingers into the muscled flesh as his other hand moved over Mulder's neck, caressing it in a motion that looked almost as if he would choke the body before him. Mulder arched his neck back, his mouth opening and that lip glistening prominently in the low light.

Suddenly Mulder dropped to his knees in front of Skinner, fingers moving into the buttons of the jeans, pulling the fly apart. Electrified, Skinner jolted straight as Mulder's fingers found his rock-hard cock through the fabric of his underwear, playing and teasing. Mulder moved his face forward against the outline of his cock, his hot breath drenching Skinner and sending wildfire through his body. Walter reached down to grab Mulder under the arms and hauled him up.

"No. Not like that. Not here." Met with confusion, he stumbled in his response. "I want this to be... we're equals here. This isn't work. I don't want you to be... I want to let go of some of that."

Mulder smiled in return, a goofy look that reminded Walter of a ten-year-old boy. "Yes," was all he said, diving into a deep kiss that seemed to last an eternity.

Skinner found himself drawing back to look at the man pressed against him, who until now he thought he'd known so well. He hadn't had a clue. He searched Mulder's questing eyes, finding someone new before him. He could drift and fall inside Mulder's desires, reacting only to his needs, shedding the control and focus that had directed his life each day for so long.

"Fox," Walter said, so low that Mulder almost couldn't hear him.

"Oh no," Mulder responded. "Don't call me that."

"If we're about to have sexual intercourse, I'm not of the mind to call you Agent Mulder," Skinner said, amused. "Fox. Show me what you want." No fear of falling.

"You're the intrepid explorer. You're doing fine all by yourself." His hands moved inside the waist of Skinner's jeans. Then he stepped forward just a bit, moving slightly to the left and to the door of the bedroom, and Skinner followed.

A few steps and Skinner grabbed Mulder from behind, moving his right arm across Mulder's collarbone and grasping the left shoulder gently but firmly. He brought his lips to Mulder's neck, teasing and testing. With his left hand he caressed Mulder's chin, cupping it and pulling Mulder's head back towards his own mouth, kissing him fast, frantic.

"The last time you had me in this position..." Mulder laughed between kisses.

"Another time I should have had your ass. Why I didn't fire you for that..." He bit Mulder's earlobe, pulling it between his teeth, Mulder's knees almost buckling. Obviously a sensitive spot.

"Have you realized you have a bad time with your employees? Guns, garrottes, mace, getting clocked... Have you ever considered one of those management training courses?"

Skinner laughed gruffly, the rumble of it tickling Mulder's back. Releasing him then, Skinner pulled Mulder around face-to-face. He grappled with Mulder's belt, undoing the jeans and pushing them down Mulder's thighs, his calves, until they pooled around his feet. Skinner stepped back a bit and looked at Mulder, openly admiring his body. Skinner shook his head. "You are trouble with a capital T."

"And that rhymes with B and that stands for bed," Mulder said with his wry smile, and nodded his head to the left. He kicked up one foot and neatly dislodged the jeans, stepped over and sank onto the bed, attempting to put on his most provocative face. He was already hard as a rock but release was the last thing on his mind. Having Skinner need him like this, want him, was his sole focus, his purpose in life this night.

Walter followed him to the bed but stood at the edge, gazing down admiringly. Mulder's fingers reached up and slowly pulled at Skinner's jeans, sliding them and the briefs down the same way Skinner had done his, but more slowly. His eyes traveled every inch of Skinner's body as it was revealed to him, and he was unconsciously chewing his lower lip as he watched. The backs of his hands caressed the inner thighs as he brought them back up, then over Skinner's stomach to his shoulders. Mulder arched up and pulled Skinner down to him on the bed, feverishly kissing him, searching with his mouth, his hands as Walter moved astride him.

Hands roved across new territory as each man explored the other, their breath shallow and quick, bodies slippery with sweat. Wanting it to last, finding his most absurd fantasy come to life, Skinner finally pulled away and rested on his heels, his face flushed. Mulder wouldn't let him, though. He sat up and grabbed Skinner's stiff cock in his hand, teasing it with slick fingers, until he finally dove down and covered it with his mouth. Skinner gasped loudly. He pulled Mulder off with some effort, shaking his head. "Christ, you are reckless. Whatever happened to safe sex?"

"Well, I know you were behaving yourself with--"

"Don't," Skinner said with authority. "Don't get into that again."

"Sorry. I know it pisses you off--" he paused to lick lightly at Skinner's throat "--that I know so much about that part of your life." Mulder moved his hand again to Skinner's cock, moving his fingers lightly over it, looking up at Skinner from under his brows.

Skinner sighed deeply, arching into Mulder's hand. "No... I... ah God. I don't mind that you know... Jesus Christ. You supported me against all the odds." He was having trouble concentrating as Mulder's hand ranged around his balls, between his legs, the tops of his thighs.

"Because you've always believed in me, in spite of everything. Why do you think I want this so much?"

"Do you?" Skinner asked, leaning in to savage Mulder's mouth with his own, nipping, biting, sucking. "Do you want this so much?"

"Yes," Mulder breathed, barely audible.

Skinner pulled away and stood, his body gleaming brown against the soft light that filtered in from the other room. "Do you have... anything?"

"In the bathroom--medicine chest." Mulder lay back on the bed, running his hand across his chest, an unconscious gesture that nevertheless made Skinner shudder. He returned in a moment and paused to look at the sybarite lolling before him, so content in his excitement. Walter put some KY on his fingers, and knelt over Mulder. "Stay that way." He ran his other hand down between Mulder's legs, caressing Mulder's balls and the skin around his cock, and then gently pushed his legs apart.

Mulder eagerly spread them wide on either side of Skinner's thighs, arching up as Skinner pushed two slick-coated fingers inside him. He exhaled loudly, his eyes closed in rapt attention to the sensations inside him. The fingers moved away and he felt the pressure of Skinner's cock against his ass.

Finally he opened his eyes and looked at Walter, gasping in tiny breaths. He felt so oddly powerful, to have Skinner doing this to him, looming above him with such lust and need, tensing all his power and strength until the moment he gave it over to Mulder. "Tell me you've always wanted me like this," Mulder said in a raw voice, his eyes locked firmly on Skinner's. "I want to hear you say it, even if it's not true."

"You know it's true," Skinner growled, his nerves on fire and every muscle aching to plunge fully into Mulder, to absorb his carnality and his haunted soul, to pull Mulder's uncontrolled need inside of him. He leaned forward, kissing Mulder hard, while lifting Mulder's hips up as he drove his cock forward into him.

A gasp, followed by low moans, as Mulder steeled himself for the thrusts that would follow. Skinner knew that Mulder needed time to accustom himself and he waited for a moment, his cock pulsing and throbbing, until he heard Mulder moan again, long and sweet. He stroked hands across Mulder's belly, his chest, rubbing the nipples roughly with his thumbs. He raked fingernails over the soft skin of Mulder's neck, bit and nipped around his collarbone with teeth and lips. Each time he drew away he saw Mulder staring up at him with complete trust and serene happiness in his eyes. Walter felt his insides twist, his heart pirouette in his chest at the look on his lover's face. Then finally Skinner began moving with slow strokes, taking his slicked-again fingers to Mulder's cock, working a rhythm in time with his hips.

"God, Walter. God. I never... imagined." Eyes closed, Mulder just kept repeating it between sharply inhaled breaths. Skinner's free hand went to Mulder's mouth, his fingers playing over those ripe lips, until Mulder grabbed his thumb again, biting and sucking it in. That was all the extra stimulation Walter could take and he nearly shouted as he came, his hips bucking hard and fast into Mulder, then stopping as his cock released its hot liquid for what seemed like minutes. It took every ounce of concentration Skinner had to keep his hand on Mulder's cock, pumping it until he heard Mulder cry out, and felt the jets of semen cover his hand, his thighs. A small laugh escaped Mulder's lips as he became lost in his total release.

Skinner nearly collapsed over Mulder, trying to catch air into his lungs, attempting to keep himself up on quivering arms. Finally he rolled off Mulder, flopping over onto his back. He drew his arm up over his eyes, chest heaving with deep, scattered breaths.

Next to him Mulder slowly lowered his legs, the smile on his lips playing out languidly as he relaxed, his own breath coming in long, slow draws. Perfect. He felt perfect, the immergence of himself inside Skinner's potency drowning him, the flooding elixir of Skinner's power completing him. This was where he'd wanted to be for... how long? Almost since he'd known the man. To absorb and be absorbed by him, to swallow whole the fury and tension and virtue and give back his own fears and doubts and urgency. All those things he knew Walter wanted from him, which Mulder gave to him openly.

Eventually he heard a rustle of the bedclothes and looked over to see Skinner's head pillowed on the rumpled duvet. His eyes were shut underneath the arm that lay across them, as though he were hiding. Mulder felt himself smiling again. Walter *would* hide _,_ he thought, now that the heat of the moment is gone _._ Mulder had not gone so far as to imagine the head resting beside him, after one of the best orgasms of his life, to be bald and belonging to his boss.

"I used to wonder if you had something going on with Scully," Skinner said finally, quietly. His voice had a surprisingly soft timbre, Mulder thought, when it was low like this. "That you two were more than partners."

"There are times I've wished that were true," Mulder answered idly, swiping a hand over his lower belly to remove some of the sticky residue there. "I don't want to ruin something perfect, though, maybe the one perfect thing in my life. I love her more than I have anyone in my life except my family. But... there's a line in a song: The trouble with normal is it always gets worse. If things were normal we would have that kind of relationship. But if it were average, or normal like anyone else's, it would get worse, it would be destroyed. So things should stay this way, I think." He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, amazed that he didn't feel at all like sleeping. He wanted very much to reach out to Skinner, to touch him and connect with him now, but felt clearly that such a gesture could unnerve Walter, and it should be the other man's move.

Skinner reached out and moved his fingertips lightly over Mulder's hip, the flat of his haunch. Mulder in turn placed his fingertips lightly over Skinner's hand.

Then Skinner sat up, rubbing his eyes in the same tired, frustrated way he usually did at the office. Mulder let go of his hand, kept his distance.

"I suppose I'll never get you to behave now," Skinner said sourly.

"Well, then you won't be disappointed I've changed, will you?" Mulder fired back, amused.

Skinner stood up off the bed and began putting on his clothes. Mulder watched him, a glimmer of doubt in his mind as to whether he'd ever see Walter like this again. "I want more of this," Mulder said simply.

Skinner kept his face turned away as he pulled on his shoes, then walked to the door. Finally he turned to Mulder. "You have your statement to give in... just a few hours, actually. You need to be fresh for that. Don't waste too much of your time thinking about this."

He stepped out of the bedroom and took his coat from the chair, then quietly let himself out of Mulder's apartment.

The lack of an answer was all Mulder needed to know. Skinner would be back, there would be more of this. Mulder didn't move from the bed for some time.

***

The conference room for Mulder's statement was the same one he remembered from the hatchet job they'd done on Skinner during the whole thing with the prostitute. The same darkened room, the same long mahogany table, at which sat almost the same investigating team save one. They looked up as Mulder entered the room.

Scully had just left, brushing past him as he entered, favoring him with her sweet smile. He had only smiled back at her, confident in her support of him.

He sat at the side and looked down at the far end of the table where Skinner sat, looking as if he'd had a perfect night's sleep, the crisp white shirt and smooth suit appearing fresh. Skinner made no acknowledgment of him, and Mulder didn't twitch a muscle in affirmation of his presence.

Because it was enough. He had that strength inside, that same power. Scully beside him; Skinner's force inside him. It was enough.


End file.
